


Sterek Drabbles July 2018

by Jmeelee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: 13 Sterek Drabbles based on the prompts from SterekDrabbles on Tumblr





	Sterek Drabbles July 2018

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [smowkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smowkie/pseuds/Smowkie%20drabbles) and [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/pseuds/rieraclaelin), who run the tumblr [Sterek Drabbles](https://sterekdrabbles.tumblr.com/). Check it out and join in the fun!

**Ward, Thank, Log** (7/2/2018)

If you ask Derek what name he signs in the visitor log, he won’t be able to tell you.  He’s functioning on autopilot, stalking down the corridor of the children’s ward—walls splashed with cheery, primary colors intended to staunch the grief of patients and visitors.  The Stiles he finds languishing in the hospital bed is a shadow of his former self; non-verbal, apathetic, picking at his bloody fingernails.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Derek says, lifting Stiles’ hospital gown.  “It’s too late to ask. Please forgive me.” He bites.

 

It’s hours later when Derek hears the words, quiet but certain.  “Thank you.” 

 

**Admire, Landscape, Pleasant** (7/4/2018)

The Martin family hired a hot new landscaper, and Stiles Stilinski fell in lust.

 

“Thank your mother for me,” he told Lydia from his prime vantage point next to the bay window.   

 

“My mother didn't hire him to admire his assets, Stiles,” Lydia informed him in her faux-pleasant tone as they hid behind lace curtains in the living room.   “She hired him because of his work ethic and business savvy.” Derek chose that moment to grab the hem of his sweat soaked white t-shirt and wipe off his brow. “Well… okay.  Maybe his looks had  _ something  _ to do with it.”  

  
  


**Discuss, Wait, Fade** (7/6/2018)

It’s Lydia who calls Derek. He’s expecting a discussion about the Bestiary, a request for introduction to a neighboring pack, or  _ anything _ , really, other than what she says.  

 

“There’s something I should remember,” she tells him, too shrill and panicked for such a mundane problem.  “I keep waiting for it to come to me, but it  _ won’t _ , Derek.”

 

“I’m not sure how I can help,” he tells her.  “Did you ask St—” The name is right there, on the tip of his tongue, faded and worn as an old love letter, so familiar his heart aches.  

 

Who is he forgetting?  
  
  


 

**Snack, Smile, Marriage** (7/9/2018)

The spring storm came on quick; he’d be soaked to the bone if he continued walking to his Babcia’s house, so instead Stiles dashed toward the quaint cottage he glimpsed through the trees. When he burst through the door he saw a beautiful beast—half man, half wolf— smiling hungrily at him.

 

“What sharp teeth you have,” he gasped, heart in his throat.

 

The werewolf stalked closer, the perfect marriage of danger and grace, and curled clawed fingers into the damp fabric of Stiles’ red hoodie.  “The better to eat you with. I haven’t had such a mouth-watering snack in months.” 

 

  
  


**Straight, Letter, Breakfast** (7/11/2018)

A snowy owl swoops in through the kitchen window, dropping his acceptance letter into the sausage grease on his breakfast plate. Stiles lets loose a loud whoop, throws a treat to the bird, and heads straight to Derek’s house at a full sprint.   

 

Derek throws open his front door before Stiles can knock.  He’s frowning, eyebrows drawn, even though Stiles clearly sees Derek’s name in green ink on his own parchment. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Derek grabs his hand.  “What if we’re sorted into different houses?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles says.  “It’s you and me. Forever.” He squeezes Derek’s hand.  Derek squeezes back.

 

**Lake, Ground, Walk** (7/13/2018)

“Hard to believe seven years have gone by,” Derek remarks, adjusting his blue tie as they file downhill toward the Great Lake.  

 

“Faster than a Slytherin Seeker on a Nimbus 2018,” Stiles jokes, bumping their shoulders together as they walk to the boats that carried them to Hogwarts all those years ago.  Someone spelled them larger for their final journey; they aren’t children anymore.

 

Derek grabs his hand, and now, like every time before, the ground shifts beneath Stiles’ feet and his heart rabbits in his chest.  “It’s still you and me,” Derek whispers, lacing their fingers.

 

Stiles replies, “Forever.”      

 

 

**Monster, Take, Date** (7/16/2018) **Stydia Warning**

It takes her husband a moment to resurface from sleep, like a mermaid slipping from the dark deep into garish daylight, blinking rapidly to adjust to the jarring world around him.  It’s in this limbo that he looks at Lydia but doesn’t see  _ her _ .  She knows exactly who he sees.  Has known, since the early days of their relationship, when casual dates slid smoothly into romantic nights and in the morning, as he blinks away the monsters and memories, a soft, sad look of disappointment always flashes across his features, when Stiles realizes it isn’t Derek he’s waking up to.

 

**Finger, Glasses, Apple** (7/18/2018)      

“This one’s for you, Teach.”  

 

Derek glances up from the syllabi he’s shuffling, index finger pushing up black-rimmed glasses that are slipping down the bridge of his nose, and thanks god for his werewolf reflexes.  Stiles Stilinski, that annoyingly adorable undergrad from last semester, pegs a glossy green apple at Derek’s face, and he catches it, quick as a cat, hoping Stiles doesn’t notice the abnormally fast speed.  Stiles smiles knowingly, and Derek’s traitorous heart skips a beat.

 

“Sour, just like you,” Stiles says with a wink, before sauntering to a seat in the front row.

 

Derek is so fucked.   

 

**Waist, Treat, Admire** (7/20/2018)

Derek’s eyes  _ never _ roam.  He knows what it feels like to be objectified, and he never does it to others on principle.  But today… well, today the sun is warm overhead, and just once Derek treats himself to the view of Stiles’ throat as he swallows sweet iced tea from a mason jar, admires the gentle curve of Stiles’ bare waist and the sweat dripping down the dip of his back into his swim trunks.  His pack is laughing, playing in the sand like pups, and in this idyllic interlude Derek allows himself to  _ look _ .  

 

What he sees is beautiful.

 

**Jewel, Stroll, Necklace** (7/23/2018)

Agent Hale couldn’t decipher the age of the man walking toward him, features obscured under a blood-red hoodie, but his easy, confident gait was youthful.  He painted an intriguing picture, out for an innocuous stroll, fog floating around his feet, except his face was turned toward the same house Derek was monitoring, protecting a priceless jewel necklace inside from an elusive master thief.  He finally turned toward Derek, smirking as he passed, his hesitation so brief Derek would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching closely. 

 

There was no reason the encounter should have unnerved Derek… except it did.

  
  


**Method, Fold, Answer** (7/25/2018)

“Looking for laundry room lovin’?” Stiles laughed as washers whirled and dryers hummed.

 

Derek watched him pinch the edges of a graphic tee, cross his arms, and flop a perfectly folded shirt onto his clothes pile, managing to make the method look gracefully spastic.  

 

Derek answered with a wolffish smile, grabbed his boyfriend around the waist, and deposited his ass atop a vibrating dryer.  Stiles’ leg flailed, kicking clean clothes to the cement floor. 

 

“You’ve ruined all my hard work!” he bemoaned.

 

“I’ll make it up to you.” Derek reached for Stiles’ zipper, and twisted the dial to maximum speed.

 

**Fox, River, Bird** (7/27/2018)

Jag juice flowed like a river the night the threesome strolled in like they owned the joint.  Stiles took one glance from his spot behind the bar and knew they’d be trouble.

 

First was a curly-haired wet blanket wearing a silk scarf.  Next to him was a vampy bird with scarlet bow lips and dark eyes peering out from under her cloche hat.  Bringing up the rear was a dangerous black-haired man that had Stiles’ heart dancing the foxtrot.

 

“You always were keen on the smooth fellas,” Scott said next to him, tone judgemental while he polished a whisky glass.  

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Pain, Cucumber, Snatch** (7/30/2018)

“I feel like an idiot,” Stiles complains as Derek places cucumber slices over his eyes.

 

“You are an idiot,” Derek gruffs, snatching the massage lotion off the shelf.  “But you’re my idiot, and I need to practice my strokes before the certification exam.”

 

“Oh baby,” Stiles laughs.  “Practice your strokes on me any day.”

 

Before long he’s moaning, Derek melting the pain from his muscles with strong, sure fingers.  

 

“I don’t think that’s going to be part of the test,” Stiles smirks while one of Derek’s hands travels up his inner thigh.

 

Derek whispers back, “You can’t be too prepared.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm [Jamie!](http://jmeelee.tumblr.com/)


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